


Grip

by BelowBedlam



Series: Poetry for Interstellar Blitz [7]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, grumpies having sex pretty much, what romance there is none here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelowBedlam/pseuds/BelowBedlam
Summary: There’s literally no good reason for Zisys Shepard to consider fucking Zaeed Massani. She barely likes Zaeed Massani.But it be like that sometimes.Just a bit of shit-talking sex between two Actual Hoodlums™ who are literally always mad.





	

Sometimes you go to shoot the shit with an old head because you like his swagger, maybe, a little. Sometimes you don’t call him out on the way he blatantly lets his eyes wander as you talk about…something, you _were_ talking about something.

 Sometimes you end up bent over a dubious storage container, that same old head holding you down by the back of your neck, his hips flush against your ass while he talks shit.

Hey. The world’s a strange place lately, and shit happens.

Zisys groans and wriggles against Zaeed, and that old asshole just laughs. He digs his fingers into the flesh of her hip and thrusts hard once, the impact sounding like a sharp crack softened by the hum of the trash receptacle which is somehow fitting.

“You’re hot as shit, Shepard,” he grunts, twisting his hips. “And wet as hell. I’m flattered; didn’t think you liked me, truly. Maybe you still don’t.” Chuckling, he thrusts again. Zisys breathes hard through her nose and miscalculates the impending sound; it comes out as a whimper she is _not_ supposed to be whimpering.

“That’s it,” he says gently, loosing his hold on her waist to rub her back almost soothingly, rough hands slipping under her shirt. They’re both fully clothed, nothing but the necessary bits of flesh exposed to the air; it’s a little cool, wind from a vent blowing down on them, and she’d be chilly if she weren’t exerting herself. She’d been a little chilly before they’d started fucking, she remembers.

“Don’t go soft on me, Massani,” Zisys growls, glad he can’t see how she blushes. This way, she can call it embarrassment and nothing else.

“Soft, eh? Do I _feel_ soft to you, Shepard?” Before she can shoot anything back he tightens his grip on her neck and hip and gives her a few good, brutal strokes, grunting with each one. “Don’t think Commander Shepard gets bent over for soft cock. No,” he hisses when she reaches between her legs; he slaps her hard on the ass and she stifles her moan behind gritted teeth. When she doesn’t obey-she gets a few good rubs in- he slaps her again, and the doubled sting is enough to put her hands where he can see them. “Leave it for a bit, I’ll get you there. You’ve got such a pretty ass. If you like me a little more after this, I’d have a bite of it.”

“Zaeed,” she rasps, hitting at the storage container she’s bent over in frustration and biting her lip when he pulls out just to slide the length of his cock over her clit. She arches her back and shudders. “Just fuck me, Zaeed, damn.”

“I’m fucking you, Zisys,” he mimics the strain in her voice as he re-enters her slowly, reaching around to rub the skin just above her clit and making her curse. “Or tell me I’m not. Tell me you don’t like it, love, I’ll stop. Go ahead,” he says huskily, _teasingly_ because he already knows the answer as he angles himself so each slow thrust makes it harder for her to keep her eyes open. “ _I don’t like the way you’re fucking me, Zaeed._ ” He lets his fingers brush her clit, and she jumps. “Is that so?”

“Goddamit,” she whines, burying her face in the crook of her arm as he picks up a bit of speed, his hips snapping against her ass as he pants. “God _damn it_.” She rises on her tiptoes, tilting herself up and back, and lets him fuck her.

“So you _do_ like it,” Zaeed laughs, but now Zisys can hear an honest straining in his voice, can feel it in the way his hand flexes against her shoulder now, a better grip for him than the back of her neck, and in the way he grips the meat of her ass.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He digs his blunt nails into her skin a little, doing absolutely no damage beyond making Zisys impossibly wetter.

“Yes, I like the way you’re fucking me, Zaeed,” she answers him too easily for her own damned liking, and she swears his dick literally jumps inside her at the words.

Zaeed finally rubs her clit proper, sliding it between two fingers and pressing down just above where he’s buried in her. Zisys groans happily and tightens around him, flexing and wriggling and feening for friction.

“That’s right, grip it good, girl,” he hisses, “Come here.”

Zisys yelps when he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her upright, nearly bruising her ribs and lifting her off of her feet; his breath is suddenly hot on her ear, smelling of tobacco, his stubble scraping, but all she can do is pant and moan and curse. She plants one foot against the container and pushes back against him. Zaeed gropes her breast through her clothes and it’s almost painful, and she almost wishes she were naked for it. She lets her head fall forward and all she can see of the room is what flickers through the fall of her damp hair - a flash of a Blue Suns helmet, the glow of the surveillance screen.

For what feels like a long time there’s nothing but the slick slap of bodies and a damn-near harmonious groaning. They almost make music.

“Goddamit, first you wanted to come quick and now you’re trying to kill me,” Zaeed murmurs, breaking off the stream of obscenities Zisys hadn’t even been paying attention to. “Make up your bloody mind.”

“Shut up.” She flings her head back against his shoulder. Deliberately, she slides her hand over his one between her legs, and changes his direction, quickens it, lifting his fingers and making him tap at her firmly. “Shut up, shut up shut….oh…” She comes hard, shuddering and bowing her, and Zaeed holds her steady.

“Oh, thank fuck,” He sighs, his arms locked tight around her, his release like a rush of relief. “ _There_ she is.”

The trash receptacle becomes the loudest thing in the room again; Zisys shakes her head as she comes down, because she’s going to have to chastise herself later.

But later.

Zaeed walks them backwards until he can lean against the wall and catch his breath, running his hands over her. He reaches beneath her shirt to cup her breasts, her nipples still hard and pressed achingly against his palms.

“Lot of bloody work, you,” he says after a while. His hands roam under her shirt almost lazily. Zisys leans against him and lets him touch as she catches her own breath, smoothing and tucking her hair behind her ears. “Guess that’s why that turian always looks like he’s gonna blow a fucking fuse or four.”

“God, _shut up_.” Zisys elbows him in the ribs and pulls away, cursing him when he slaps her ass. “You’re just mad your bones are shot, old man. Make sure you see Dr. Chakwas, get some ointment.”

“Gonna have to hit a little lower than that for it to hurt, love,” Zaeed chuckles. He grabs a few sheets of tissue from a dubious looking box, and disposes of the condom in the trash can half-filled with junk food wrappers and cigarette butts. “And you’re gonna have to come a _little_ weaker next time for anyone to believe I can’t put you through your paces.”

“Fuck off.” Zisys pulls up her pants, shimmying them up as he tucks himself back into his own trousers. “This isn’t happening again.”

“Unfortunately.” Zaeed feigns a pout, grinning when she rolls her eyes. He lumbers over to her and pulls her against his chest, hand firm on the back of her neck. “Give us a kiss, then.”

When she only frowns up at him he smirks and kisses her hard, pulling her hair a little and biting her lip before he pulls away. Zisys keeps frowning because it’s all she can do against that damned blush rising in her cheeks; his mouth tastes bitter and _still_ she wouldn’t mind kissing it again.

And that’s just a bad idea.

Zaeed isn’t fooled. “Not happening again, eh?” He says softly, grinning down at her with all his mismatched teeth. “Sure.”

Then, he pulls away. “I should let you go,” he says casually, as if they’d simply finished whatever conversation they’d started when she came down in the first place (and damn it, she really can’t remember). He strolls over to his solitary little sofa and falls into it. “Talk more later, Shepard.”

The trash receptacle bangs with a dropped load, mechanism whirring as it pushes refuse down and away. Zisys leaves, and doesn’t say a damned thing.


End file.
